Disturbance
by EE's Skysong
Summary: Evey rarely sleeps the night through at the shadow gallery... 'I try to focus on my silly little rambles about V's character so I won't think about the dream again, but the words stumble out of my mouth like drunks.' Rating for mentions of rape Twoshot
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: "So to you, the truth is still hidden And the soul plays the role of a lost little kitten But you should know that the dark is one kitten She's been singing it all along"

(An: Evey refers to something that was touched upon in the film but sadly never explored- she was taken by the government after her parents were killed into some sort of rehab to make sure she wouldn't be an activist. I think it would have been something that really would have made V empathize with Evey- it would have been a good bonding moment. This would be set after Evey tells him about her past but before the incident with the priest, sometime while she's staying in the shadow gallery.)

I've developed the terrible habit of falling asleep on the couch lately. It's bloody freezing out here in the living room, but my room is so bare and impersonal… All the memories I associate with it are bad- waking up cold, alone, and confused. No matter how many times I open my eyes, I never immediately remember where I am; there is always a moment of fear before I remember… and the memory's not much better than the fear.

At least the couch has good moments- watching movies, the news, or just sitting in silence reading with V. It's where I spend most of my time when he leaves on his mysterious excursions- part of it is to keep an eye on the telly and see if he's causing any more explosions, but it's also because I'll know more immediately when he returns if I am in here. Several times he's come back injured; he waves away my concern, but some nasty part of me likes to know that he's human and really can bleed even as I try to get closer to inspect the wound and see if there's anything I can do to help.

He never calls me out, either- I always wake up under a blanket, my book marked for me and set on the coffee table. I usually stumble in for breakfast afterward- no matter the strange schedules V keeps, we always have breakfast together- and although V sounds like he's smiling for real behind his mask, he never comments.

The problem with being out in the open, though, is that it's so much easier for people to hear you scream…

(_oh God his hands are so cold and his lips-_)

I'm not even sure I screamed, but I suppose I must have; V is leaning against the back of the couch, peering down at me. His arms are folded, and he is drumming his fingers on the cushions- I can't tell if it's from impatience, nervousness, or concern. It's always hard to understand him when he's not speaking.

"…How on earth did I get on the floor?" I ask, sitting up. The floor, like everything else, is _cold_. I gather the blanket closer around me, realizing I never got undressed. I feel sweaty and rather disgusting and oddly self-conscious- I wonder if I stink. Could V smell me if I did? Considering how intently he is looking at me, I suppose a quick pit check is out of the question.

"The problem with taking naps on the furniture is that there isn't much room to thrash about." Damn him. He's doing that emotionless voice thing- how on earth am I to know what he's thinking?

_He probably thinks you're a prat,_ says a nasty little voice in my head, kissing cousins with the one that likes to see V bleed. I certainly feel like a prat, though. I look at the couch instead of him, blushing a bit. "Ahm… yes. I should have noticed that."

"Might I ask why you were thrashing about? You normally seem a quiet sleeper."

I glance up at him, and the drumming speeds up. It's probably stupid to think he's nervous. I stand up, drumming my fingers on my thigh- at least I know I'm nervous. Nervous both because I'm standing so close to a murderous kidnapper (who, admittedly, is rather… nice)… but also because of our topic of conversation (_a badge in the darkness turns into a scalpel and a hard grin)_. I thought just remembering that there was far more immediate danger had gotten rid of that dream… "Just a nightmare."

V's fingers still, and then they start moving faster than ever. "I understand completely." What is it about him that makes me trust him, even though I know what he's done? I don't doubt him for a moment.

I sit down on the couch and pull the blanket up to my chin, wondering if this would be an inopportune moment to ask him to turn up the thermostat. He seems so solemn (well, sprightly's never been a word that could describe him, but still), lost in his own thoughts. Instead of that, I just nod and try not to look too pitiful.

I don't think it worked. He steps around the couch and sits down across from me, keeping a good foot between us. I have a sudden, strange, _strong_ urge to close the distance, to cuddle up to him instead of the blanket- it'd be warmer at least. I shake my head, to clear it, and he appears to misinterpret that too. After a moment, he says (and still his fingers do not pause), "I find that it's easier to banish night terrors by letting them out instead of letting them fester."

If he's being serious, I might end up actually telling him the subject of my nightmare, and then I'll have to think about it more- although it might be nice… I've never told anyone about the one bad dream I always have, never. Instead, though, I try to joke. I'm not very good at it. "What, do you keep a psychiatrist in a box somewhere?"

V cocks his head just slightly, which I have come to interpret as his version of a smile- at least, it's what he usually does when I make a joke. It could just be contempt. "Usually, when I'm upset, I bang on the piano for a while until how absolutely terrible I am starts to amuse me."

I can't imagine him being absolutely terrible at anything- he's so talented at everything I've seen him do. "Oh, really? I thought you couldn't play that thing. I figured you kept it around to attract women."

Now he's definitely smiling- I can hear it in his voice. "No, no, I can play it, but I fear that, despite twenty years of practice, I'll never be Beethoven."

"No, then you'd have to be deaf, and that'd just be ridiculous."

V stands, smoothing his tunic. There is something detached about his manner. I think I've offended him. Perhaps, with his talk of nightmares, he was attempting to reach out to me…? V is so withdrawn; if he thinks that I am not willing to risk myself in return… "I'm sorry, Evey. I'm keeping you awake."

My eyes widen. The last thing I want him to do is leave me to my dreams. Hating how quiet I sound, I say, "It was about the night we met."

V freezes, and I realize I've managed to say the exact wrong thing once again. He thinks-

"I mean the Fingermen," I add quickly. I've never once been afraid of him- afraid of what he's done, his words, his motives, yes (terrified), but I don't think V would hurt me, not without a life-or-death reason. He's so chivalrous and kind, in his own odd way. "What they- what they wanted to do."

V sits again, quickly; if he were anyone else, I would call it collapsing, but he is simply too graceful and composed… it's annoying sometimes. I bet his face doesn't get all red and blotchy when he cries- presuming that he cries, of course. "Oh, Evey," he whispers- I believe he's just made my statement about his composure a moot point. He actually sounds… concerned about me.

I hug my knees under the blanket. "Yeah," I say. I try to focus on my silly little rambles about V's character so I won't draw up the dream again (_that man with the white coat was like the sick man, all hands and squinty eyes and- oh)_… damn. The words stumble out of my mouth like drunks. "It didn't bother me too much at the time, but when I got to think about it-"

"Shock. Or possibly a distraction from the horror?"

I nod at that one. "You're good at that."

V ignores my comment. "They didn't get very close- at least I arrived soon enough to make sure of that." That last seems more directed at himself.

I am tempted to pull the blanket over my head, but my traitor mouth rambles on. It's been too long since I was released from the "rehabilitation program" for the shame of what happened to overpower the fear and loathing, but it's still not something I can talk about easily. As I've said, I've never spoken of it before- not even to the friends I consider closest. Rape isn't exactly polite teatime chat. "Close enough to remind me."

V snaps to face me again- I wonder if he's making eye contact behind that mask? He doesn't say anything for a long moment, but he's drumming both sets of fingers now- concern? Oh, I wish I knew anything about him for certain! "…Evey… when you mentioned your motivation, I didn't know this was part of it."

"It's not. I try not to think about it- but I can't help it. Whenever I think of my parents, I end up thinking about that place they kept me in… and the stuff they did."

V watches his hands as he says, "I can understand your fear when you put it that way." There is a rueful edge to his voice when he adds, "They certainly have away of making their lessons stick, eh?"

For the third time, all I can do is nod. "Enough so I've not been able to look a man in the eyes since, yes."

V crosses his arms. "Not even Deitrich? I understand you were to meet with him that night."

I wave away the accusation. "Oh, that was just a farce- for appearances. It kept suitors away from both of us, and he's only the second good man I've met since they let me go."

"It must be a short list."

"The only other person on it is this nice man who used to live in the flat across from mine. He only spoke to me when he needed to borrow some bread… and you, I suppose."

V makes a point of lifting his head slowly; I think he thinks he's made himself far too vulnerable tonight. But so have I- he can stop being so bloody hesitant about it! "…Thank you, Evey." He looks over his shoulder at the clock behind us. "It is late. The both of us should be in bed." He stands up, and I almost reach for him. Almost.

Instead, I slip the blanket down to around my shoulders. "V, wait."

Obligingly, the mask tilts in my direction. "Yes?"

"Can we watch a movie or something? It's just-"

V nods once, firmly; he has already stepped over to the DVD rack. "Of course, Evey."

When he sits again, already extolling the virtues of the newest swashbuckling adventure he wants to share with me, I stretch out on the couch so my feet almost brush his thigh. He does not look at me… but one hand rests on the edge of the blanket instead of in his lap, endlessly drumming.

(That, unlike my last _V for Vendetta_ fic, was not like pulling teeth. Review!)


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: "You could be my unintended Choice to live my life extended You could be the one I'll always love"

(An: This is V's side of the story. Same dialogue, same actions, vastly different interpretation. Done largely while listening to "Unintended" by Muse, which might explain why it's so angsty… oh, btw, if you want to know what would logically happen next: Evey betrays him in the whole pedophile priest incident. That's what happens next in the movie anyway, IIRC.)

I know I'm dreaming because of the flowers. Dandelions. Improved herbicides wiped those out years ago. And daisies. Have I ever seen them outside of pictures?

_I suppose I shouldn't quibble. It's a nice day. There's not a cloud to be seen- smoke, cirrus, or otherwise. The sky's too clear for me to be anywhere near London, the grass too tall… too beautiful in general. _

_I stretch out in the grass. Dressed in all black and lying in the sun- I'll undoubtedly become absolutely miserable from the heat soon… but I haven't been outside for the sake of seeing the sky in such a _long_ time… there's no place for such trifles in my thoughts right now. This is a good dream, as rare as the proverbial blue moon._

I pick a dandelion that went to seed, twirling it back and forth in my fingers. I am considering lifting my mask- just enough to blow away the seeds- and then it screams at me.

My eyes snap open, and I almost fall out of my chair. Damn. I've fallen asleep at my workbench again. It always leaves me so terribly stiff, and- Evey!

I jump to my feet and regret it; my back is one giant exclamation point of pain. Damn, damn, damn! My reaction time is hardly what it should be. I suppose I am _still_ not used to another presence in my home. But what if I've been discovered? If the gallery's been found? …If Evey's been hurt in my misguided attempt to help her?

I walk quickly into the living room- _do not run, do not run, it will only attract an attacker's attention, DO NOT RUN_-

Evey is fine, tangled in a blanket at the foot of the couch. I left here there when I went into my workroom. She keeps falling asleep on the couch… I never have the heart to move her. I usually cover her with a blanket (she always complains of the cold in my sitting room, but she never thinks to fetch one herself) and leave her there. It is nice, being able to look at her and smile without having to keep clues to my lovestruck expression out of my demeanor.

I cross my arms, drumming my fingers on the couch. Evey doesn't appear to be hurt, but one never knows…

"How on earth did I get on the floor?" she asks, sitting up. She looks from the stone to me several times, wrapping the blanket about herself.

"The problem with taking naps on the furniture," I comment, trying to hide my amusement, "is that there isn't much room to thrash about."

Evey turns red, looking at the couch. "Ahm… yes." She sounds embarrassed- as if I'm going to point at her and laugh. Evey gets the strangest notions sometimes. "I should have noticed that."

"Might I ask _why_ you were thrashing about? You normally seem a quiet sleeper." …Did that sound like I've watched her sleep? She's already afraid of me; I needn't give her more ammunition. She looks up at me- damn, she must know! I always get nervous whenever she looks at me… I feel like she can see through me, mask and all, to every time I've thought of her as more than an ally…

Then her face darkens, and I realize she's not thinking on me at all- but what is love but a kind of narcissism? She draws the blanket further around herself, a shadow passing across her face. "Just a nightmare."

My eyes are drawn back to hers. There is no such thing as 'just' a nightmare- I know this better than most. …She looks so sad… why do I so rarely see her smiling? Quietly, I say, "I understand completely."

She climbs onto the couch, covering everything but her head with the blanket. She looks tired, something I know well; a nightmare every only serves to exhaust body and soul. She nods once and says nothing.

I would like to go closer to her, to put a hand on her shoulder and say something soothing (but probably untrue) to banish her bad thoughts. Instead, I sit on the couch- not too close. Don't push your luck. Don't give her another reason to hate you. She looks at me oddly for a moment- not like I'm strange, but like she's calling herself out for something- and then she shakes her head.

Ah. Here is something I can use. Emotional closeness is just as good as physical- even if the night seems so cold without it. "I find that it's easier to banish night terrors by letting them out instead of letting them fester."

She smiles at me weakly. "What, do you keep a psychiatrist in a box somewhere?"

I do believe I've just "struck out". I still smile, though- Evey is unwilling to take me into confidence, but at least she is humoring me. Turnabout is fair play, after all. I've only gone up to the plate once, and the night is young (more or less) so I decide to try again. "Usually, when I'm upset, I bang on the piano for a while until how absolutely terrible I am starts to amuse me." The truth. I play with feeling and vigor, but not diligently enough for complete mastery. I take comfort that I'm slightly more talented at orchestrating explosions.

A real smile spreads over Evey's face; one blooms on my own in response. She feels everything so strongly- I wish I could say the same for myself. "Oh, really?" She seems amused- this whole game is beginning to sound like a bad romantic play. "Evey, stunningly gorgeous and absolutely perfect, is amused, possibly flattered, by Our Hero's attentions- although she certainly doesn't take him seriously." "I thought you couldn't play that thing. I figured you kept it around to attract women."

A laugh trembles behind my lips. How long's it been since I laughed- honest-to-God laughed, without hint of sarcasm or cynicism? I do not remember; that is enough to still my mirth.

I am still smiling, though, and do not attempt to keep it from her. "No, no, I can play it, but I fear that, despite twenty years of practice, I shall never be Beethoven."

"No, then you'd have to be deaf, and that'd just be ridiculous."

I stand abruptly, smoothing my shirt just to have something to do with my hands. _Ah, yes, that'd be humorous- deaf, nearly blind, nerveless in most of the body-_ I refuse to finish that thought. Self-pity is a dreadful waste of energy. "I'm sorry, Evey," I say quietly. I shouldn't blame her- she doesn't know- but I fear I won't be able to help it. "I'm keeping you awake."

She looks terrified at the thought of being left alone, and I have only just begun to wonder what her dream was when she tells me. "It was about the night we met."

…Oh, Evey. Will you ever know what you can do to me? A thousand of my fears (_she fears you she hates you she could never care for you or-_) start to crystallize into awful certainties- and then she adds, "I mean the Fingermen," and they shatter.

I'm quite sure my heart stops for a moment as well.

Evey looks at her hands, mumbling, "What they- what they wanted to do."

_Rape_. The word flashes across my mind like the afterimage of a firework. I sit- more like slump- and can only breathe, "Oh, Evey…" Rape, to me, is the ultimate sin- cruelty, murder, even torture can be justified, but that… no. Never.

"Yeah." Evey retreats, pressing herself against the arm of the couch, her eyes very wide with the flatness of aged horror. I have no doubt that every girl is taught to fear that when they are young- in a world like ours, it is a likely possibility. At that moment, she reminds me horribly of myself, a comparison I never want to make." It didn't bother me too much at the time, but when I got to think about it-" She trails off.

For a moment, I can only look at her. _Coward! Say something._ "Shock. Or perhaps a distraction from the horror?"

She nods, a little more life in her eyes. "You're good at that."

I barely hear her- I am still amazed that anyone could see (and desire) only Evey's body and not the strength of character she does everything to hide. She's so pure… but so fragile. People like her are the reason I think there's something left of this farce of a country to save. I frown at my lap. "They didn't get very close- at least I got there soon enough to make sure of that."

Evey's eyebrows snap together, and she hugs herself tighter. "Close enough to remind me."

Now I know my heart skips a beat; I look at her, hardly breathing. Someone- someone _dared_-!…Oh, God, I want to hold her so much- to reassure myself as much as her. "…Evey…" _My love, no one will ever touch you again… never._ The problem with Evey is that she makes me forget everything that used to matter- I have almost forgotten that my death on the Fifth is almost a surety in the face of my desire to protect her. "When you mentioned your motivation, I didn't know this was a part of it." The words sound empty, hollow- possibly even cruel. But I suppose the last thing I should worry about is sounding cruel (it's far beyond that point), and I can think of nothing else to say. She would not accept my comfort.

"It's not," she says, and her eyes have that terrible flatness again. "I try not to think about it- but I can't help it. Whenever I think of my parents, I end up thinking about that place they kept me in… and the stuff they did."

My suspicions are confirmed. After all, who else would do this to her? I remember doing some research on her when I first brought her to the shadow gallery- they summed up her childhood in a few terrible sentences. My heart went out to her then, just as it now belongs to her. "I can understand your fear when you put it that way… they certainly have a way of making their lessons stick, eh?"

Humor can be a great help in situations like these. Too bad my sense of it is rather rusty- it must be, since Evey doesn't even seem to notice. She nods again. "Enough so I've not been able to look a man in the eyes since, yes."

My mind flashes to a particular night in London. I'd later learned what she'd been doing- off to have dinner with her "friend." I fold my arms; I can't help my annoyance. "Not even Deitrich? I understand you were to meet with him that night."

Evey flaps a hand at me; she obviously doesn't see this as important. "Oh, that was just a farce- for appearances. It kept suitors away from both of us, and he's only the second good man I've met since they let me go."

"It must be a short list." My traitorous heart wishes to be on it; I know perfectly well that I am not.

"The only other person on it is this nice man who used to live in the flat across from mine. He only spoke to me when he needed to borrow some bread." She pauses, cocks her head, and the barest hint of a smile appears on her face. "And you, I suppose."

I looked up slowly, just as slowly as her smile. I need time to think, to restrain my hope and put it in a box so I can look at it later, when I needn't be afraid of doing something stupid."…Thank you, Evey." I glance at the clock. It's after eleven. Later than I thought. "It is late. The both of us should be in bed." I stand, and she leans toward me, looking almost desperate.

"V, wait."

I look at her- damn that hope! Why won't it stay still and where it belongs? "Yes?"

"Can we watch a movie or something? It's just-"

I am already looking through my collection for something appropriate; something of a lighter tone than the movies I usually show her, to banish the darkness. "Of course, Evey." I tell her about my choice, but I get the idea that she's not paying a whit of attention to me, and after a moment, neither am I. She has stretched out, closing the gap we have always kept between us. It is an unspoken agreement, a quiet pact between two people who can't quite trust each other.

I still cannot bring myself to touch her- even accidentally through a blanket, but I rest one hand on the arm of the couch and the other near her foot, as close as I'll ever get.

(…So, uh, that's the angst part of the genre, I guess. I just can't write V all smiles and solicitude… ah, well, review. Oh, by the way, this is a twoshot, so therefore it is done. Over. ETC.)


End file.
